A Substitute to Loneliness
by uptightcrankyshadownet
Summary: After Alex and Michael's death, Nikita shows Birkhoff there's an alternative to loneliness. Past Nalex/Mikhoff, sort-of Birkita. M for Birkita smut.


When he loses Michael and she loses Alex, what can they do but stick with each other?

Amanda makes them _watch, _from the windowless, whitewashed prison they're locked into. Watch on a HD television, how she injects her own special brand of venom into Alex and Michael's bloodstreams, watch how they're paralyzed but screaming as the mixture shuts down all possible movement and leaves liquid agony spreading rapidly through the pair. Birkhoff just sits, his blood turning to ice, unable to comprehend what's happening in the next room. Nikita's tears and relentless shrieks are enough for both. She's struggling with her handcuffs, trying to break the bonds, screaming at the top of her voice. Birkhoff's watched her dissolve into hysterics through the ordeal.

She was the strong one first, when the quartet ended up gagged and chained in the room after infiltrating Amanda's underground headquarters and being met by the unwelcome surprise. She was the one who had managed to get their gags off with some acrobatics. She was the one who had spat at Amanda's feet and defiantly snarled that they were going to get out of there when her goons had dragged a drugged Alex and Michael away while Birkhoff desperately tried to inch himself over to the door on the chair he was bound to.

Then Amanda had screen the live feed of Michael and Alex strapped to the gurney, wide awake, _terrified, _and from there it had just gone downhill.

"ALEX!" The name comes out as a tortured screech as Nikita watches tears roll down her lover's cheeks, mouth wide open in a howl, lying paralyzed where she is. "Alex!"

"Michael," Birkhoff whispers quietly, seeing him gritting his teeth, refusing to give Amanda the sadistic pleasure she wants. The sounds of his teeth scraping against each other is magnified by top-grade amps, another vicious attempt by Amanda at breaking through Birkhoff and Nikita's defenses.

It isn't till Alex finally stops shrieking, her cries dying down to whimpers and finally nothing, when the grinding of teeth stops abruptly, that Nikita and Birkhoff realize the loves of their lives are gone. This time there will be no adrenaline to get their pulses throbbing, hearts beating, lungs breathing, not again. Nikita's eyes are wide with horror and disbelief, and Birkhoff can feel the heat of tears running down his face- he didn't even realize he was crying. Alex's eyes are open in a last, blank gaze of nothingness, and the tension in Michael's muscles will only fade after rigor mortis.

They will never hear Alex's laugh or Michael's deep growl ever again.

Nikita's tears are drying, and she begins to scream again- this time not in agony, but in rage. "Was it really worth it, Amanda? You can take them, you can take us, but Ryan and Sonya will take you down, even without us!"

Amanda's mocking laugh echoes through the amps, but Nikita refuses to back down.

Birkhoff can't help but laugh, a bitter, cheerless sound. "What are you going to do to us now, huh?" Does it matter? Does it matter when he's lost one of his best friends, and the man he loves?

Their answer comes in the form of an explosive bang they hear, followed by the acrid smell of smoke drifting up a few seconds later. Nikita's eyes widen in understanding, and she begins to work the handcuffs even more urgently. "Nerd! Come on! We have to get out of here!"

"Why?" He's understood, too- Amanda's probably set something on fire, maybe set off a small bomb to ensure they die engulfed by flames- but he can't help but feel resigned to it. "She killed Alex. She killed _Michael. _Who cares what happens now?"

Nikita lets out a grunt of anger and satisfaction as she finally works one cuff free, glaring at her friend. "You want their deaths to be in vain? You want to abandon Ryan and Sonya now? We have to get out. Their deaths can't be for nothing!" She frees herself, running over to Birkhoff and deftly releases him from his shackles. The door is unlocked, and Nikita wrenches it open, reeling back from the coal-black smoke outside in the corridor, coughing. It burns at her lungs, and she pulls her shirt over her mouth and nose, turning to a still-stunned Birkhoff. "Come on! Run!"

The heat on their heels is unbearable, and looking back, Nikita realizes it's because the bright yellow and red flames are metres behind them, huge and persistent, chasing after them in the maze that is the headquarters. Desperation and terror threatens to overtake the normal-human side of Nikita, and she pushes herself, heading towards the exit. Without thinking, she links hands with Birkhoff, forcing him to keep pace with her, before they finally stagger out into fresh air and safety. And even then, they continue running, until they're a safe distance away, watching the fire devour the unassuming gray building. The firefighters will arrive to see two unidentifiable bodies, probably with a predictable setup that throws all suspicion of foul play off.

Nikita finally stops, dropping Birkhoff's hand, and collapses on the ground, allowing herself to shake with sobs. Birkhoff sits down beside her and buries his face in his hands, memories of times with Michael replaying through his head.

"Now what?"

She shakes her head, unable to speak coherently.

Birkhoff knows how she feels.

When they get back to their safe house, thankfully still secure, it's far too big, teeming with memories, and Birkhoff and Nikita immediately throw themselves into finding Ryan and Sonya, who've disappeared off the radar after their mission. Nikita's confident they're alive; Birkhoff, not so much. But Michael and Alex refused to think otherwise, so what could he say?

It's not lost on him, when he's up at one tossing and turning on the bed that used to be _ours _and now is just _his, _how Nikita cries herself to sleep at night. He used to complain about thin walls, and how he could hear what Alex and Nikita were up to the whole night.

He'd give everything now to hear that crap now, instead of Nikita's sobs.

A week in she opens his bedroom door and without a word, slips under the sheets and presses against him in a chaste embrace. He responds immediately because he understands that she's just looking for comfort after a day of failure at being able to track Ryan and Sonya, combined with the pain of not having Alex by her side. It overwhelms her, and he hugs her close.

She does it again the next night, and the next. And finally the days slip into weeks and weeks into months and the mystery of three unknowns- two women, one man- in the basement of the shadowy rumoured whorehouse is splashed on the front pages and Ryan and Sonya's bodies are found in a ditch three states away, and Birkhoff doesn't know how he ever managed it without her. He is her anchor, she is his lighthouse, and they need each other.

It's three months after their lovers' deaths before Nikita tugs at his shirt in a decidedly aberrant way, and her teeth graze against his throat when she covers him, body to body. Birkhoff gasps a breathless warning _"Nikita_" coupled with a "You don't have to do this, I'm not Alex."

"I'm not Michael," Nikita shoots back, quiet frustration in her voice. "If nothing, wouldn't it be good to fill our minds with something other than memories for at least one night?"

Her hands find the waistband of his boxers and her lips cleave against his collarbone, and he arches up against her. She is soft and full and curves where Michael had edges and angles, and when her jaw dusts against his chest, it lacks the rough stubble that Birkhoff is- was? he can't bear to think that- so used to. Her hands are too small, the ruggedness is a different sort, and she tastes different, vanilla and chamomile instead of the sharp, biting mint that Michael always was. She takes his length in his mouth before she uses her hands, and Birkhoff fists at long hair instead of short. Her tears stain his fingers and he knows what she's thinking too- that he is not Alex, that he will never have, never _be_ Alex's petite frame and beautiful blue eyes and warm lips against her own.

But for now, they have each other, they can forget, if they try hard enough. And that will have to do.

When he comes down her throat, he can hear her sob, knowing it's purely out of remembrance, of loss. Her lips are flecked with imperceptible white as she kisses him and he tastes himself on her tongue. His hands unconsciously force her boyshorts down her perfect legs, and he hears Nikita's gasp when he thrusts once into her, burying himself up to the hilt. He wants to end this, fast, wants to finish this before he can allow his mind to remind himself over and over that _this is Nikita, not Michael. _Nikita cries out, a sound filled with anguish, and when they come in unison, two names are sung in a chorus of broken hearts.

Nikita buries her face in the hollow of his shoulder, and clings to him. Birkhoff rests his chin on her head, and lets himself sleep.

Everything else can wait till tomorrow. For now, he pretends she is Michael and she pretends he is Alex, they take comfort in each other's presence, and wait till the daylight breaks along with the lie.

**AN postscript: (omg Now You See Me ship reference.)**


End file.
